


The Conservation Tango

by saliache



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: In a way, M/M, Modern AU, Werewolf AU, inverse canon, it's only m/m if you squint and tilt your head, meet cute, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:13:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10084541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saliache/pseuds/saliache
Summary: Celebrimbor, while camping, has a strange nighttime experience. The next day, he meets a handsome stranger in the woods.





	1. standalone chapter

**Author's Note:**

> based off this ask/reply on tumblr: https://silvergifting.tumblr.com/post/157945341011/sauron-turning-into-a-wolf-in-full-moon-giving-off

The embers of his campfire were out and the moonlight filtered brightly through the thin fabric of his tent when Celebrimbor woke.

At first he assumed it was due to the brightness; as a child he'd loved to peek through his windows and look at the stars when he was supposed to be sleeping. As an adult he'd taken to drawing his curtains every night so he wouldn't have to worry about sleeping through his alarm in the morning.

His fingers were poking at the switch of the flashlight he kept next to his sleeping bag when he heard the first _crack_ echo through the woods. The forest was silent, devoid even of the sounds of nocturnal insects.

Then another noise, closer, and another. Celebrimbor swallowed, acutely aware of the fact that he'd left his rifle and its tranquilizer darts in his truck more than a kilometer away. Not that he'd be able to outrun whatever it was approaching his camp before the drugs kicked in, but at least he'd have managed to _feel_ safer.

The footsteps stopped at the edge of the camp; Celebrimbor fought down the urge to peek through his tent flap at whatever might be out there. There was a low huff, oddly human-sounding, and then a growl like the world's largest wolf mated with an idling diesel engine. Celebrimbor bit his lip, trying to stay quiet.

He'd be safe in here, he promised himself silently. Whatever it was couldn't see him. It couldn't know how helpless he was, trapped in a fragile cage of polyester and carbon fiber and half-tangled in his own sleeping bag, armed with nothing but a flashlight and his own overactive imagination.

Wood creaked and nylon hissed. Celebrimbor recognized the sound; something – some _one_ , rather – was lowering the backpack he'd hoisted into the trees earlier. The one with all his food and supplies in it. The one he used to foil hungry bears.

A person would know what a tent was.

Celebrimbor reached for the zipper holding the tent flap closed. The metal was cold in his fingers. Carefully, he unzipped the first inch or so.

The person hunched over Celebrimbor's backpack at the base of the tree he'd secured his backpack in, sniffing at it loudly. Without a word, the backpack was upended, its contents spilling out. Celebrimbor winced as his battered laptop hit the ground with a _snap_ of shattering plastic.

Celebrimbor made a tiny, furious noise. The figure froze, its face turning, showing a distinct muzzle in profile, and rose. It was enormous, he realized, easily taller than a man, even while in a crouch. Red-gold eyes met his, glowing against the darkness. Celebrimbor stared, frozen in place and trapped like an insect under some enormous microscope –

He woke up, head pounding and mouth dry. Sunlight filtered into the tent. A bird was singing somewhere outside, matched by the chirping of insects. His flashlight lay next to his head, where he'd left it last night upon going to bed.

A nightmare? Celebrimbor groaned, rubbed at his eyes, and forced himself to sit up. For all that he must've slept well into the day his body ached like he'd been running a marathon. Another thought struck him, bringing him to his feet and then out of his tent in a mess of half-open tent flap and tangled zippers – how had _that_ happened?

But no, it was indeed close to noon, or just after. So much for one last day of research.

“I hate my thesis,” Celebrimbor told the singing bird, which chirped at him one last time and flew off, as he went to lower his backpack. He checked inside – everything was as he had left it last night, ziploc bags of trail mix and assorted research notes and dirty underwear and all.

“I hate trail mix,” he said to no one at all through a mouthful of stale trail mix as he methodically dismantled his campsite.

“I do hope you don't hate camping as well, although it would make for quite the trifecta,” a light male voice called from behind him.

Celebrimbor choked on his trail mix. A stranger stood at the edge of the clearing, walking stick in hand, dressed in a minor fortune's worth of some fashion designer's demented vision of outdoor gear, shiny white edition. Was that _wolf fur_ lining his ridiculously quilted hood? 

“I-I suppose,” Celebrimbor said when he'd managed to clear his airway. The stranger was now no more than two feet away and folding tent fabric with practiced hands. “Who are you and how did you get here? We're on protected land – and an hour's hike from the nearest trail.”

“I got lost,” the stranger admitted, smiling. His teeth were as perfect as his cheekbones, Celebrimbor noticed. “What about you?”

“I was marking preliminary sites as part of a project to track the local wolf population,” Celebrimbor replied defensively. “The park rangers thought there was a recent uptick in wolf sightings and contacted my lab – my department – the entire university, really.”

The stranger raised one perfect eyebrow.

The tent was fully packed now, so Celebrimbor extended his hand. “My name is Celebrimbor. Nice to meet you.”

“Celebrimbor? As in son of-?”

“Yes, but that's _not the point_ ,” Celebrimbor interrupted hastily.

The stranger looked chagrined and reached out to shake Celebrimbor's hand. His fingers were long and callused, the palm firm and warm. Celebrimbor studiously refused to acknowledge the flush he knew _had_ to be building in his cheeks.

“Apologies. I am Annatar. Let me explain myself again; I happen to have rather more money than I know what to do with, so I asked the rangers here if they minded letting me take a look around before I made the donation official.”

“Donation...?”

“Yes!” Annatar nodded. “I was hoping to work with local officials and experts to develop several ongoing programs to protect this forest and keep out poachers, loggers, and other sundry baddies. Including you, I hope?”

Celebrimbor nodded, feeling obscurely guilty. City boy or not, possibly misguided or not, who could afford to turn away funding nowadays? Especially with the political and regulatory mess conservation had become nowadays...

“Now that that's done-” Annatar swung Celebrimbor's battered little tent over his own shoulder, winking at him broadly “-why don't we go back to the station and tell the rangers what we managed to find, hmm?”

 


	2. introducing the plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so of course Annatar would come in and completely ruin Celebrimbor's lab's dynamics and then try to flirt outrageously with him

“I thought you had an office?” Annatar asked, looking around the lab curiously.

“Budget cuts,” Celebrimbor explained, planting himself squarely between the other man and the stack of crumpled papers littering most of his desk. The desk – the entire lab, really – looked even shabbier and messier in Annatar's presence.

“I didn't realize,” Annatar murmured, running his finger along a long gouge in the table's surface. “Your lab has always produced such consistently good results.”

“That would be Lord Celeborn's doing,” Celebrimbor demurred. “I only joined his lab two years ago.”

“ _Lord_ Celeborn.” Annatar frowned. “Another of the many offshoots of the House of Thingol, I suppose.”

“I assure you, it does not affect his work,” Celebrimbor hurried to assure him, suddenly nervous. The peoples of Mordor held a blatant disdain for the Houses of old, he remembered. And Celeborn had ordered him to secure funding, one way or another.

“Of course not.” Annatar's frown slowly shifted, the corners of his mouth quirking up and a rueful expression stealing over his face. “His work speaks for itself, after all. Do you know why he chose that stretch of forest in particular to focus his efforts?”

Celebrimbor shrugged. “Personal preference? I believe they used to be part of his family's ancestral hunting grounds or something.”

Something dark flashed in Annatar's eyes. “Or something, I suppose.”

“I suppose,” Celebrimbor echoed uncertainly. “Was there anything else I could help you with?”

Annatar reached inside his jacket and pulled out a thin, dark checkbook. “I want you to get yourself a proper office, for beginners. I would also appreciate it if you chose to take the opportunity to visit the university at Barad-dur someday. You have quite the potential, Celebrimbor, and I would _love_ to nurture it.”

“Thank you?”

Annatar nodded, pulling a pen out of another jacket pocket and writing a check. Celebrimbor resisted the urge to tell him that he was being highly irregular. Celeborn would probably just ask Galadriel to smooth things over, anyways. Annatar tore out the check and handed it to him.

Celebrimbor took a look at it, then did a double take.

“I think you made this out to the wrong person,” he said.

Annatar glanced at the check. “No, that is correct.”

“You,” Celebrimbor croaked. “Gave me. Twice the university's entire endowment.”

“I trust you'll put it to good use,” Annatar said.

“Why me?”

“Why not?” Annatar shrugged. “I like you. I think you have potential. Like I mentioned when we first met, I have rather more money than I know what to do with. And I like giving gifts.”

“You're mad,” Celebrimbor said.

“Well, if you don't want it, then shred it. I don't care, one way or another.”

Celebrimbor clutched the check close to his chest. “You. You would – even with my family-”

Annatar leaned in until Celebrimbor could see the golden flecks in his odd, dark eyes. He smelled like expensive cologne with a metallic undertone. Gold? Copper?

“Listen to me, Celebrimbor. You are not your family.”

This close to him, Celebrimbor was exquisitely aware of the deep rumble of his voice, the fullness of his lips, the warm richness of his skin. He wondered what it would be like to touch Annatar's cheek, to slide his fingers through that lovely dark hair, to –

“I think I need to sit down,” Celebrimbor said faintly.

“Take your time,” Annatar said. “Dinner tonight? I'll send someone to pick you up.”

Celebrimbor nodded dumbly, not trusting his voice to keep steady. As Annatar's back disappeared through the doorway Celebrimbor sat down, clutching the check – his check – to his chest like a promise. When Inglor came to check in on him, he was still sitting there, trying to process what had just happened.

* * *

“You cannot keep it,” Celeborn frowned. He was holding Celebrimbor's check in one hand, the other gesticulating wildly. “He is obviously trying to buy you. Or worse, trying to buy all of us.”

“I wouldn't mind being bought right about now,” someone muttered rebelliously.

Celeborn scowled at his assorted lab personnel. “There's more to life than money. And money like this always, _always_ comes with strings.”

“Easy for you to say,” Celebrimbor snapped. “You're not the one drowning in debt-”

“Enough! Celebrimbor, do not make the same mistake your uncles did. I'm sorry, but this is for your own good. I can't allow you to cash this.” The check disappeared into one of Celeborn's many pockets.

Celebrimbor stared at him, hurt. “So what, you'll – you'll do what, rip it up? Cash it yourself?”

“A charitable donation will be made in your name to this university,” Celeborn said with grim finality. “And then your aunt and I will have a conversation about setting up a trust fund for you.”

“Because I can't be trusted to manage my own money, apparently,” Celebrimbor muttered. He should never have mentioned Annatar's donation to any of the others.

“ _Later_ , Celebrimbor.” A disapproving eye took stock of the small crowd around them. “I believe there is still work to be done in this lab, folks.”

With that final admonition people began drifting away back to their own tasks, although an undercurrent of excited whispers and curious or pitying glances cut through the air. Celebrimbor went back to his desk, trying to focus on an algorithm for measuring wolf pack displacement and not on the frustration and disappointment of losing the opportunity of a lifetime.

* * *

With all the excitement and upset of the day he had managed to forget his dinner appointment with Annatar, so that when a shiny black limousine pulled up to the front of his apartment complex and buzzed his apartment he was half-asleep in his bathtub with a candle in a jar, at least six inches of soapy foam, and a treatise on bear excrement.

The candle was in the bathtub, water was flooding his bathroom, and the treatise was an unreadable mess of pulp and staples by the time he managed to acknowledge the driver's presence. He threw on the nearest set of clean clothes he could find, which turned out to be slightly dingy sweatpants and a truly hideous checkered monstrosity of a shirt, and all but ran outside to find Annatar standing at the curb, wearing a tuxedo that looked like it must have been personally tailored to fit.

Celebrimbor stared, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks.

“I see I came overdressed,” Annatar chuckled. His smile invited Celebrimbor to join him, as if all of Celebrimbor's recent ineptitude were part of one enormous joke.

“Nonsense,” Celebrimbor retorted. “I am _clearly_ wearing the latest in postdoc field researcher chic.”

Annatar threw back his head and laughed, a deep, ringing sound that echoed through the mostly-empty street, before mock-bowing Celebrimbor towards the open limo door. Since it was clearly too late to change clothes, Celebrimbor slid into the limo.

“So why dinner?” he asked as Annatar slid in beside him.

“So I can pick your brain on current conservation strategies and opinions while spending an evening out with someone whose company I find that I enjoy, of course,” came the answer. Annatar flicked a switch somewhere and the interior of the limo lit up, revealing blacked-out windows, an empty minibar, and significantly more seating than Celebrimbor had initially seen. Celebrimbor took the hint and switched to a more distant seat.

“So tell me about the wolf tracking project and what it has to do with conservation,” Annatar suggested, looking obscurely disappointed.

Celebrimbor launched into an explanation of predator-prey dynamics that managed to segue into a discussion of local keystone species. He was attempting to explain to Annatar that removing bears from the area would be a bad idea – really! - when the limo stopped and the door opened.

Dinner turned out to be a reasonably inexpensive restaurant that specialized in, of all things, Numenorean fusion cuisine. Annatar proved to be an attentive listener, albeit incredibly stubborn in his convictions. They managed to agree to disagree about the bears over a plate of minced, raw steak, commiserate over popular scientific misconceptions over some kind of chickpea puree, and move onto Celebrimbor's favorite species of tree (holly) over a dessert soup.

“That was educational,” Annatar murmured as he sipped delicately from a glass of harsh Nurnen grain alcohol. “Thank you for tonight.”

“No, thank _you_.” Celebrimbor paused. “I don't think I've had quite so much fun in a while.”

“Hopefully not a long while,” Annatar teased, smiling. “Perhaps we should do this again. Tomorrow? Any place you want.”

There were so many reasons this was a bad idea. It was unprofessional, Annatar was so incredibly rich (and foreign!) he might as well have belonged to a completely different species, he'd be so upset if he found out Celeborn had pocketed his money –

Celebrimbor returned the smile. “I would like that.”

 


	3. plot trainwreck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and now we have officially moved on to the Lovecraftian-secrets-and-conspiracy-theory urban fantasy part of this story

Night time. The deepening chill and fading stars of just-past-midnight, a thin breath of air blowing through the little peek-hole and over sweat-soaked skin, a metallic taste like ozone in a suddenly-dry mouth.

An enormous monster, its eyes locked on his, rising up and up until it was as tall as the trees, the smell of wet dog and sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight -

Celebrimbor woke up. The candle by his bed was out. Groaning, he reached for his phone, tugging it free of its charging cable, and dialed a familiar number with shaking hands.

“...hello?” the speaker's voice was muffled.

“Aunt? Auntie? I... can I meet with you tomorrow?”

“I'll see you at eight.” _Click._

* * *

 

8:00 AM

A nervous young man walks into a room. Portraits line the walls, familiar faces frowning down at him in the dim light of an old electric lightbulb. Fresh candles line the room; he lights them before sitting down in the only chair in the room, an antique armchair facing away from the door.

8:01 AM

An older woman walks into the room. Her hair, golden threaded with silver, gleams in the light. She stops behind the man in the chair and lays her hands on his shoulders. The candlelight flickers.

8:02 AM

The man speaks. His voice is tense.

“Aunt?”

“Speak.”

“I had another dream last night. Only this time, I was in the woods. I was in my tent, and there was a monster in the woods looking through my things and it _saw me_.”

“A common enough dream.”

“Yes, but... I had a similar dream when I was in the woods. Only, I don't think it was a dream. I think it might have been real. And then I saw Annatar the next morning. And now my candles keep going out.”

A pause. Then, “Oh, Tyelpe.”

“Aunt? What if it wasn't a dream? _Please tell me it was a dream._ ”

“I'm sorry, nephew. I truly am.”

“But – but what now? What do I do?”

“Nothing. Annatar offered us blood money, and you accepted it. As far as the old laws are concerned the matter has already been addressed.”

“But what do I do now?”

“There are twenty-five days until the next full moon.”

“But what do I _do?_ ”

“What can you do? You can leave now and wash your hands of us, or you can stay and accept the consequences.”

“Aunt-”

“Galadriel.”

“Au- Galadriel, what do you think I should do?”

“Pray to the old gods, Celebrimbor. Pray to the Valar that you were not tainted.”

“...you knew already. Even before I came to you. Why didn't you say anything?”

“Like you, I did not want to believe the truth. A mistake on my part.”

Silence.

“I have also informed Celeborn that you contracted a sudden illness that required you to take the month off and would appreciate it if you did not show yourself in his presence until further notice.”

“And the weregild?”

“A donation has been made in your name to the Department of Environmental Sciences in the name of wolf conservation. The rest of it returns to the family's coffers since you have no heirs of your own.”

“If that's the case... could I ask you to set up a scholarship for other students who want to work in conservation? And maybe pay off student loans for everyone in the lab?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

“I will miss you, Celebrimbor. And... you should know that despite our differences I did truly love you. You were always such a wonderful boy despite your parentage.”

“...Goodbye, Artanis.”

The woman walks out of the room. The time is 8:26 AM.

* * *

In situations like these it was always better to disappear off the map completely. Or so he had heard, many times over as a young child, before Galadriel had taken him in.

He had no idea how to disappear. In retrospect, he probably should have just run off with Annatar's check, although actually cashing it would have been almost impossible. But now? He had no job, a hundred dollars in the bank, an apartment cosigned by his erstwhile aunt, and a tenuous acquaintance with the man – not a man, really – responsible for all of his troubles.

Annatar had promised him a second date.

He intended to keep it.

* * *

This time, he was the overdressed one. Annatar was wearing a passable imitation of lumberjack flannel in white and gold, his silent chauffeur drove a sedan that would not look out of place in one of the university's student parking lots. Celebrimbor, on the other hand, was sweating through a three-piece suit and debating whether or not to abandon the tie before he'd even gotten into the car.

“Why the sudden change?” Annatar's voice was teasing. Celebrimbor looked him squarely in the eye.

“Take me with you to Mordor.”

“You only ever had to ask, my dear.”

This time, they did not talk about forests, or bears, or wolves. The predators they minced their way around were an entirely different breed.

“So this is quite the coup for you, I presume.”

“You presume correctly.”

“But why me? I wasn't even involved in anything.”

“Because of what your fathers did, and for everything they are responsible for.”

A disgusted noise. “Of _course_ it was. So much for that whole 'you are not your parents' bullshit.”

“And because you are a lovely young man with so much potential that would have been wasted if you had remained under your aunt's thumb. I read your paper on reclaiming marginal land; it's quite brilliant.”

“So what, am I supposed to help you reverse all that pollution damage in Mordor or something while we're at it?”

“Is that not a challenge you would find interesting?”

“As what? Your servant? Your slave?”

“Oh, please. No more than an indentured servant, and not for more than a few years.”

“Then no, I would not find it interesting.”

Over dinner:

“I see that a possibly impending case of lycanthropy has not affected your fondness for _plants_.”

“These _plants_ are indigenous to Hollin. I'm enjoying them while I still can.”

The drive back:

“You know, compared to yesterday, you seem dead set on attempting to antagonize me today.”

“That was because yesterday, I had no idea you were planning on basically enslaving me. Is it working?”

“No.”

Celebrimbor's apartment:

“No roommates? I thought all broke postdoc researchers had roommates.”

“Don't generalize. Now, please excuse me while I light some candles. They're important.”

“They smell like wolfsbane.”

_Click._

“You know, antagonizing me is one thing. Attempting murder is quite another. You know that killing me won't cause your aunt to welcome you back, right? I am your only chance at surviving past the next month.”

“Annatar, tell your chauffeur to put down my tranquilizer rifle. It's loaded with etorphine.”

“And?”

“Etorphine is extremely lethal to humans. I have naloxone in the fridge, but it's old and I'd rather not test its efficacy right now.”

“So why the attempted candle murder?”

“It's to prove a point.”

“Which is – oh. I see.”

“You _see?_ ”

“This only reinforces my point, Celebrimbor. Come with me to Mordor. You will be safe and cherished as the jewel in the crown of my empire.”

“We've gone over this already. No!”

“Then there is another option. Be my lover.”

“...Is lycanthropy transmitted through sexual interaction?”

“What.”

* * *

Transcribe, transmit, and archive. She had done these things a dozen times over. Finno. Ráto. Aiko. Even Celebrí. And now Tyelpe.

Little files, tucked away to gather dust like footnotes in the history of the House of Finwë. Gone, and soon to be forgotten.

No. It was time to do something about it. She finished her grand-nephew's file, tucking it away behind her daughter's. _Thus ends the line of F_ _ë_ _an_ _á_ _ro._

Half an hour later, on her way to her office, she made a phone call.

“Elrond? I'm calling a meeting. Tell Gil-galad I expect him to be there.”

 


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whodunit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would call this a surprise ending, but we all knew it was going to end this way. Also, trigger warning for some surprisingly fascist Mirdain in the last (third) part of this chapter.

LOCAL STUDENT DIES IN MYSTERIOUS EXPLOSION

At approximately 11:20 PM yesterday, an explosion rocked an apartment believed to belong to a local university student, Celebrimbor, believed to be a scion of the House of Finwȅ through one of its distaff lines but otherwise of no especial lineage. The cause of the explosion is as yet unknown, according to officials, although one body has already been found and is believed to have belonged to Celebrimbor himself. Celebrimbor, who was 24 at the time of his death, leaves behind no living heirs. The investigation is currently ongoing.

* * *

FOREIGN BILLIONAIRE PHILANTHROPIST ACCUSED OF MURDERING LOCAL RESEARCHER

The infamous billionaire and philanthropist Annatar, self-reported member of the Aulendili, has been accused of deliberately bombing the residence of local researcher* Celebrimbor, more formally known as Tyelperinquar Curufinwȅ of the House of Fȅanor and none other than nephew and ward to the Lady Galadriel herself, after a recent argument the two had. The Lady herself stepped up to accuse Annatar in a public press conference earlier today:

“[It] pains me to think that you could dispose of anyone so callously, Annatar, much less my beloved nephew, and think that you could somehow manage to buy me off. My nephew's life was worth more to me than any amount of money you could attempt to throw at me. So know this, you brazen murderer, that I will do my utmost to seek retribution for the atrocity you have inflicted upon my family.”

Annatar fired back, saying, “I have no idea what the Lady Galadriel means. Celebrimbor and I were on wonderful terms when we parted – the so-called 'dispute' she claims occurred was nothing more than dramatized jocularity.

“I would instead look to ask why a well-known hard-line conservative like her would want to capitalize on the death of her nephew as soon as she found out he was becoming involved with – yes, I _do_ mean romantically – a man she disapproved of, especially after he had already donated significantly toward her nephew's research?”

Authorities have since noted that Annatar and Celebrimbor were seen to have quarreled publicly less than an hour before the explosion took place, and that a vehicle matching the description of the one Annatar was using was seen leaving the scene of the crime less than ten minutes after the explosion. Annatar's manservant Gothmog (no relation to the steelworks mogul Gothmog) was unavailable for questioning, and a general alert has been sent out for his arrest. Anyone with additional knowledge has been encouraged to come forward.

* _correction:_ Celebrimbor was incorrectly identified as a graduate student earlier in this article. He was in fact a postdoctoral researcher and conservation biologist working on monitoring wolf populations in the Holly Woods. Our apologies.

* * *

 

RISE!

 

Rise, fellow students! Rise before it is too late! Follow the example of the brave and selfless Tyelperinquar Fȅanȧrion, who sacrificed himself bravely in a brave but futile attempt to stop the foul beast known as Annatar!

 

Rise! Take back our homeland and purge it of the unclean, the unworthy, these foul and orcish immigrants who would seek to undermine the greatness of our people! Fight for the purity of our race against the foul, the unclean, the deranged things that slither and crawl their way through the night! Fight lest the foul effluence flowing from the gutters of Mordor and Harad corrupt the hearts and the loins of our youth and destroy everything we hold dear! It is our manifest destiny to fight for our land, this promised land!

 

The Mírdain call upon you to RISE NOW!

 


End file.
